Spirits and Memories
by Violetlight
Summary: It's Brewfest in Orgrimmar - Brewfest, and Troll mating season. While Vol'jin's excited, Thrall needs to get away, and so visits acertain friend in Theramore. Will they be lucky in love, or do they have a better chance of seeing pink elekks? T/J, V/OC


**World of Warcraft: Alterac Mountains**

Spirits and Memories

By Violetlight

Disclaimer: World of Warcraft, and canon characters such as Thrall, Vol'jin and Jaina Proudmoore, are property of Blizzard Entertainment, used without permission here for entertainment purposes only. However, all original characters in this story are my own intellectual property, or that of my boyfriend's, used with permission. Please do not use them without permission.

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Prologue 

Ogrimmar – ask any bard, and he would come up with numerous adjectives to describe the capital city of the Orc nation of Durotar and of the Horde. "Foreboding", "mighty", if it were a human bard , maybe "mythical". "Loud", however, might be one of the most accurate, as anyone who had ever set foot in the great city could tell you, while trying to make him or herself heard over the shouts of vendors, the constant chatter of its citizens and the often rowdy nature of visiting Horde adventurers, and that was on normal days. On holidays, Ogrimmar could be even more chaotic...

_Moooooooo!_

_Moooooooo!_

_MOOOOOOO!_

_MOOOOOOO!_

As a certain Warchief with a massive headache knew only too well. "I hate Brewfest," Thrall growled, and tried to concentrate on his book, a challenge worthy to have battle songs written about it when the noise of his city seemed to echo throughout Grommash Hold, especially the noise of drunken Tauren playing "who can 'moo' the loudest".

The fortress-like building which served as Orgrimmar's "city hall", as well as home quarters for Thrall and some of his most important advisors, was mostly empty as the Shamans, ambassadors and advisors that filled it during the day were out celebrating the last night of the holiday. The Hold, however, was not completely empty. "Dat's only 'cause you don't drink," Vol'jin said.

"I just don't like the idea of _not_ being in control of myself, even during a holiday."

The Cheiftan of the Darkspear Trolls looked over at the Orc leader from the polished bronze shield on the wall he was using as a mirror, and ran a three-fingered hand through his messy mane of bright red hair. "Ya know, dere are other t'ings to enjoy about Brewfest, if ya just ask de right Troll, dat is."

"Sorry, Vol'jin. You're not my type."

"Funny mon, funny. You know what I mean."

"How could I forget? You remind me, every year, that Brewfest conveniently corresponds with the time female Trolls go into heat – if that warning sign someone keeps putting up outside Sen'jin Village wasn't indication enough – and then I tell you, every year, that I'm not interested." Thrall said, without looking up from his book.

"One of dese years we gonna find dat smartass. Anyway, I'm just sayin' dere are plenty of Troll ladies who wouldn't mind ... servin' deir Warchief, especially right now."

"You know I consider that an abuse of power."

"Trust me, _dey_ wouldn't," Vol'jin countered. "And I'm sure dere's plenty of Orcs, Elves, even Tauren or Goblins, for dat matter, who'd agree with dem – dependin' on what you go for."

"What, no Forsaken on that list?"

"Sometimes I wonder about what goes through your green head." Vol'jin said, with a look of disgust. "Anyway, the point is, you gotta get out more, mon. Your idea of fun is to sit around on your throne readin' dem books." He walked over and snatched the offending object out of Thrall's hands. "How can you even read dis stuff? Dere ain't no pictures or anyt'ing – oh wait, dere is!" He squinted at the page, holding it outstretched in front of him, at an odd angle. "Is dat supposed to be a Troll? What's he doin' under dat bridge?"

"Waiting for some goats to cross, apparently." Thrall snatched his book back, closed it and tucked it under his arm. "It's an old collection of children's stories that Jaina lent me. I thought it might give me some more insight into human mentality."

"Know thy enemy. Good idea!"

"It's not like that."

"Ya ya, you workaholic. You should go join de Blood Elves' junkie support group, or better yet, go out and find some real lovin' instead of spendin' your life lookin' at ..." Vol'jin snatched the book again and flipped a few pages. "Ugly human womons wearin' even uglier poofy dresses. Ya know, mon, ya coulda just asked to borrow my Ladies of Durotar calendar."

"That's not why I'm reading this –" Thrall began as he snatched back his book, before his eyes were assaulted by the amount of the colour pink that seemed to be streaming out from the page. The human "princess" depicted looked more like a pink sheep with a crown. In a pink castle. With a pink horse, of all things. Thrall grimaced. "Spirits, that _is_ ugly."

"You da one readin' it."

"Don't you have a keg to tap or whatever it is you do for your drunken followers?"

"Been dere, done dat, while you were gettin' your kicks in la-la-pink-land. Annnnd, guess who I saw while drinkin' for de Horde?"

Thrall glanced up from his book and grinned wryly. "A wolpertinger?" he asked.

"Not drunk enough for dem … yet. Guess again."

"A pink elekk?"

"You one to talk about seein' pink stuff."

"A bunch of drunken idiots?"

"It's Brewfest, mon. Dat's a given." Vol'jin said. "Okay, I give ya a hint. It's got somet'ing to do with my new threads."

"Whatever you're wearing, it doesn't make you look fat." While Thrall, like any Orc warrior, acknowledged the value of a good set of mail or plate armour in battle, clothing just for the sake of wearing it was never something that interested him, especially Trolls' rather eccentric tastes in fashion. However, while giving a passing look again at the navy blue leather trousers, chest-crossing harness and matching raptor-feather headdress Vol'jin was currently wearing, he noticed something. No, he felt it, or rather, its absence. As a Shaman, Thrall could feel the Spirits of the Elements permeating just about everything in the environment, except, now, in one place. The Spirit of Water seemed to be actively avoiding the Troll Shadow Hunter, or, more accurately, avoiding his clothes. Thrall looked closer. Sure enough, Vol'jin's outfit was giving off a slight, bluish magical aura.

Blue … water … oh Hell.

"Please tell me you're not going after that Mage again!" Thrall groaned.

"Frost resistance enchantments on da whole set, mon! Lor'thamar owed me a favour for dat time I lent him Trol'kalar to help him deal with de neighbours."

"Then Lor'thamar can come over from Silvermoon to thaw you out when she rejects you, yet again."

"She didn't reject me. We just had a disagreement before we could get to da fun part."

"I found you frozen in block of ice the next day," Thrall reminded him. "I'd say that's a rejection."

"She was just still mad over dat time I asked her to marry me. At her wedding. To my best friend."

Thrall rolled his eyes. "I'd tell you what an idiot you're being, but for some reason, I don't think you'd listen."

Vol'jin checked his reflection in the shield again. "Poor Anya, all alone, without Carbas dere to do his husbandly duty. He was a good Troll; I owe it to him to take care of her, especially in her time of … _need_."

"…right. Just like how she 'needed' you last year. From how I see it, the only need she had was the need to cover your lecherous, scheming self in a few layers of ice."

"It was a _block_ of ice, you know, a square, about dis high," Vol'jin raised his hand about a foot above his head, "and she left little air holes at the top. See? She still cares."

"I was right, you're not going to listen." Thrall got up from his throne and tucked his book under his arm. "Have fun dodging Frostbolts."

"Where you goin' mon?"

"Theramore. I need to return this book." Thrall said

Vol'jin groaned. "Dat is _not_ what I meant by you gettin' out more! First of all, dem pinkskin barbarians rank even lower dan Forsaken on de screwable list ..."

"I'll have to remember to tell Sylvanas that one."

Vol'jin rolled his eyes. "Mon, seriously, you da friggin' Warchief! You can do betta!"

"That is not why I spend time with Jaina, and you know it." Thrall growled.

"If ya say so, mon. Second, I know dat crazy humon – she's as bad as you, if not worse. You and Jaina just gonna sit around all night and read your stupid books!"

"That's the plan." Thrall replied as he walked around the back of his throne and pulled on the hunting horn hanging inconspicuously on the wall.

"And dat's another bad idea." Vol'jin complained as the secret door slid open, the glowing whirlpool of the portal shining into the throne room. "What happens when some Alliance raid group decides dat would be a nice little shortcut to stabbin' you in da back?"

"Only you, me, Jaina and Aegwynn know about the portal and that's not going to change," Thrall said.

"You know I don't trust dem humans, not even dat Proudmoore girl. What was wrong with de old meeting spot again?"

"When certain enterprising little green citizens of Razor Hill started selling spyglasses and popcorn whenever my zeppelin flew over to the rise ... it was obvious it was time for a change."

"Funny. I thought dey woulda got bored when you two didn't give dem a show."

"Look Vol'jin. I know you don't like me spending time with Jaina, but you don't have to worry. She stood up to her own father to preserve our two nations' peace. Honour may be a rare quality among humans, but Jaina has honour and strength equal to any Orc."

"I hate to admit it, but you have a point. It's just, you da best friend I've had since Carbas and I don't want you travellin' down that same path just yet – not to get all mushy or nothin'. Just don't want your job. It too much work."

Thrall smiled. "You're a good friend too."

"Awww ... I wanna hug!" Vol'jin laughed, holding out his arms.

"You're not that good a friend." Thrall smacked him with his book instead. "Besides, like you said, I'm the Warchief. I can take care of myself."

"Either way, I'm not gonna change your mind, am I?"

"Nope."

"Oh well. At least we know de Alliance ain't gonna start somet'ing tonight – dey too busy gettin' plastered in Ironforge."

"That reminds me, I'll probably regret this, but you're in charge while I'm gone."

"Same as every time you sneak off. I know de drill, mon."

"On that note, try not to get frozen in a _too _out of the way place. I don't feel like roaming the

Drag looking for your ice-covered posterior first thing in the morning," he told Vol'jin before stepping through the portal.

"Just rememba mon, plans don't last once ya hit de battlefield!" He heard Vol'jin yell.

Thrall ignored him. Whatever trouble Vol'jin was planning on getting into was his own problem now. He let the portal's magical energies surround him, spiriting him away to a nice, quiet, booze-free evening of good books and intelligent company. Hopefully, Theramore would be a bit quieter than Orgrimmar as well.


End file.
